


At the Master's Feet

by Anonymous



Category: Rope (1948)
Genre: Adultery, M/M, Pederasty, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 06:58:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13969731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Rupert and Brandon's relationship from prep school and beyond.





	At the Master's Feet

Somerset sat on a soggy bit of hill and overlooked the dreary New England countryside. Bushes and trees grew wild beyond the bounds of the carefully kept grounds and hid a small lake from the view of the students. Brandon Shaw was twelve when he started attending. He was thirteen when he snuck out to the lake with another boy and kissed him under the stars, both of them bitten up by mosquitoes and blissfully happy. He was fifteen the first time Rupert touched him.

It had taken Brandon a few years to even meet Rupert, he didn't deal much with the younger kids, it was only when Brandon was fourteen that Rupert became his teacher. Brandon was enraptured from the very first class. The way Rupert spoke, how he would interrupt students he thought weren't on the right path, was brilliant, unlike anything the over-polite or disinterested professors from other classes did. And the philosophy he hinted at, without coming out and saying anything, letting them make the connections themselves, it struck Brandon to his core. 

And was he delusional when he thought Rupert's eyes lingered a little on him? That he gave a little smile for him alone once in a while? Every class with him became agony and ecstasy. He was determined to be at the top of the class, studied for Rupert above and beyond anything he did for his other teachers or subjects. Anytime he voiced an opinion and got a frown, or even a gentle correction to the right path, it was a devastating blow. But the rare moments when he said the right answer, to see Rupert nod, to approve, agree, it was everything.

Brandon began seeing Rupert for private lessons halfway through the year. Rupert had approached him after a class had ended.

"You're starting to have some interesting things to say, aren't you?"

So of course Brandon found himself speechless.

Rupert smiled, that slow, soft smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'd like to talk some things over with you, some concepts I don't think the others would grasp. Would you be interested in that, Brandon?"

He nodded, not trusting himself not to stammer or his voice to crack.

Rupert smiled again, patted him on the shoulder and walked out. Brandon's heart didn't stop racing for hours, pacing his dorm room in a state of elated panic over the prospect of one-on-one time with him.

That very first private session, Rupert read him Nietzsche. Thus Spake Zarathustra. Brandon's head was whirling when he walked back to bed late that night. It was obvious to him that Rupert was a superior person, who else had such intelligence and insight into the lives of the common herd? And he'd chosen Brandon to teach and tutor, which meant? Could it? That Brandon was special too? As he looked around at his classmates the next day he could almost believe it.

A few weeks later Rupert introduced Plato and Aristotle to their private sessions, but not the usual passages they would read in class. Tucked away and hidden from the other students were passages about love between men, noble, uplifting love. As soon as Rupert's voice had drawled out the first few sentences along this line, Brandon thought his heart had stopped. His eyes found Rupert's and that smile, that all-knowing smile said everything. Rupert’s his eyes returned to the page, and his soft voice carried Brandon away. 

Rupert didn’t do anything without a purpose, especially in these sessions. Bringing this subject up must mean he wanted Brandon to think about it, but why? To expand his mind? Or another reason? Was it possible Rupert knew? Accepted? Was? It was heaven. The one thing Brandon was afraid of Rupert finding out, the one caveat he thought might debase him, throw him from the grace of that superiority so tentatively gifted to him, and rightly so, if Rupert had deemed it. Yet here it was laid out as a normality, given life and meaning in Rupert’s recitation. Brandon cried in the bathroom after he left that night, overwhelmed and shaky with relief.

A few weeks after that Rupert asked off-handedly if he was comfortable. They were sitting on a small couch in Rupert's office, angled toward each other but not touching, books open on their knees. 

"Yes, sir."

Rupert looked at him, his face impassive. Without putting his book down he asked: "Have you ever been with another boy, Brandon?"

He flushed, but looked into Rupert's face, determined to be adult about this. "Yes, sir."

He smiled. "I thought so. Young boy like you, it's only healthy, wouldn't you say?"

"S-sure, sir." He noticed that Rupert was stroking the edge of the page with his finger. He refused to allow himself to look anywhere else. As long as he stayed on the finger his eyes wouldn't betray him and look a little further...

"I'd like to do something for you, an exercise, let's say. Would you like that?"

Could Rupert tell that he could barely hear over his heartbeat? Were his pants loose enough to save him from awkward questions? 

Rupert closed his book softly and leaned back. "Come here,"

Brandon's throat was dry. He closed his book and set it on the couch, wiping his suddenly clammy hands on his pants, trying desperately to arrange them so it wasn't obvious, or did Rupert want that?

Rupert gestured until Brandon was standing in front of him. They regarded each other for a few seconds, before Rupert slid his hand inside Brandon's shirt. It only took a few seconds to untuck the shirt, undo the belt and then-

Brandon didn't know what to do with his hands. Rupert's mouth worked its way up and down his cock, his big soft hands stroking up and down Brandon's thighs and ass. He worked hard to keep quiet but couldn't help little gasping breaths. 

"Good boy, good boy," Rupert mumbled and Brandon came, stuttering out a useless warning as Rupert swallowed around him. He was buttoned back up, belted and tucked in by the time the world came back into focus. Rupert pressed the book back into his hands and sent him on his way, hand now low on his back as he showed him out the door with a soft "Good night."

Brandon didn't sleep for two days. When he did, he dreamed of strong hands and woke up with his cheeks blazing.

The next few months were absolute bliss. Brandon excelled in school, Rupert would be appalled at anything less, after all. He was eating well and had even started boxing to try and get more definition in his arms. At the center of it all was Rupert. They talked of all kinds of things now, their tutoring sessions taking on an informal feel. Sometimes they were completely devoted to homework help or quiet study, other times they talked of Rupert's publications, his poetry, all his wonderful complex ideas about the world. And sometimes there was sex.

They did things together Brandon had never done before, had never even heard of or contemplated. Though by necessity, it was always in his office and never on a bed. Of course Rupert could never get caught with a student in his bedroom, but what did that matter? With Rupert whispering praises in his ears and his body beside, above, below, inside his, there was nothing in the world that could beat it.

Brandon had started hanging around with Phillip several months before Rupert had brought up the Greeks, just casually in classes and in their rooms to do homework together from time to time. He was surprised to find Phillip intelligent, sarcastic and aloof, in classes he seemed fairly unassuming. His ability to wield this duality was something Brandon admired him for. They soon got into the habit of eating lunch together, swapping notes for class or gossiping about their friends and teachers. As the year went on they began to go out frequently, to see a movie, or for walks around the grounds. 

The first time Phillip kissed him, Brandon was leaning on the piano listening to him practice. They shared the piano bench for some time, breath mingling, whispers and kisses traded between them. When they got up to leave Brandon felt elated and protective, like he carried something precious within him. At the end of his next lesson with Rupert he realized he had forgotten to mention what had happened with Phillip. Lying in bed that night, fingers absentmindedly rubbing phantom fingerprints on his thighs, he decided he would keep it that way.

As winter became spring, he and Phillip grew closer. With he and Rupert they were always confined to his tiny office, it was their minds that drew the real connection between them: the ability to travel an unlimited supply of paths and outcomes. But it was nice to get fresh air. He and Phillip took to going out some evenings and weekends, he even came along to the farm that spring break and was introduced to Brandon's mother and father, both pleased Brandon had finally made a close friend. The vacation was spent doing a bit of manual labor, which Brandon was pleased to see Phillip was clearly surprised at, but it was mostly lazy afternoons walking the grounds and returning to lay by the fire with tea when the cold and damp got too much. It felt comfortable in a way Brandon couldn't articulate, spending the entire day with Phillip without the burdens of classes and teachers and friends getting in their way. Going back to school had never been more difficult.

They returned as late as possible, on the Sunday afternoon before classes, and Rupert caught him as he was on his way back from throwing out his trash. 

Rupert’s hand found his shoulder. "Did you have a fine time up in Connecticut?" Even the most informal questions could seem like carefully selected weapons in Rupert's arsenal, all with little traps and double-meanings. 

"Yes sir, it's beautiful this time of year."

"I imagine it is. Perhaps I'll see it some time." Brandon didn't know how to respond. "Did Phillip enjoy himself? He may have appreciated the beauty of the place even more than you, what do you think?"

"I-yes he enjoyed himself. Though I couldn't say if it was more or less than I did." Brandon felt himself on edge as Rupert stared at him, with the same small smile, which would seem so unassuming to anyone else-

"Wonderful. We will have to catch up soon." Rupert patted him gently on the shoulder and moved on, and as Brandon looked at his shuffling back he felt a twinge of guilt, though he couldn't place its origin. He spent the rest of the evening with Phillip, unpacking and napping, the uneasiness never quite leaving completely.

The next lesson he and Rupert had started off normally, but Rupert soon began asking about his parents and home life. Brandon, flustered, answered as well as he could. It was unusual for them to talk about Brandon’s life, and why should they when Rupert’s was far more interesting?

He suddenly asked, in that same soft voice as always: “Why do you think you’re attracted to Phillip?”

Brandon was too flustered to answer. “I, don’t, I-“

Rupert pushed further. “How would you classify your relationship? Is he an equal, perhaps? A friend? A companion? Or did you want someone malleable so you could whisper in his ear? Are you playing God, Brandon? Changing people?”

“I’m, I hadn’t th-thought,”

“I’d be interested to see just how far you could take young master Phillip, he’s quite pure now, isn’t he?” He smiled and winked. “Aside from the obvious. Yes, it’s an interesting experiment, you’ve done quite well for yourself.”

He tried. He used what Rupert had taught him, bought Phillip little presents that felt a bit ostentatious and never quite landed right, began lecturing and quizzing him on philosophy, which Phillip found tedious and then obnoxious. After several weeks he snapped at Brandon to cut it out and get himself sorted if Phillip was expected to put up with him. That ended it. Rupert could think that he liked about their relationship, but overt sermonizing and gifts was clearly not the way to get Phillip to do what he wanted. 

Alcohol, Brandon learned, did make him looser and easier to talk into things. Taking him places, making little suggestions about opinions or people which Phillip could pick up on, was also effective. But most rewarding, he discovered that by setting things up for Phillip, getting him opportunities he wouldn’t have otherwise gone for, with that came a gratitude and a trust he could never have bought with gifts, and a willingness to let some of Brandon’s more grating habits slide, in the face of their shared past and Brandon’s generosity.

Rupert approved, or Brandon thought he did, though they rarely spoke about Phillip again after that first conversation. 

When he and Phillip graduated it wasn’t even much of a discussion that they’d move in together in the city, a large apartment with a marvelous view they’d both decided on. Phillip kept his mouth shut about the glaring neon lights, as Brandon said they made him feel dramatic, though Phillip thought them gaudy and cheap.

It also wasn’t much of a discussion that Brandon would continue his relationship with Rupert once he’d left school. They stayed in contact through college, and now they could go out in public as much as they liked. Rupert enjoyed taking Brandon to the opera and pointing out little mistakes, the ridiculous way people preened and primped, and the poor souls you could tell got all dressed up in their best for one big night a year, and still looked shabby and awkward as ducks in amongst the swans. These night almost always ended in big hotels overlooking the city or the park, with champagne and strawberries and discrete hotel staff who asked no questions and were tipped generously.

Rupert only ever came to their apartment for sex once, when Phillip was away at his mother’s. He had stayed the weekend, they laid about the apartment most of the time, reading Brandon’s books, talking late into the night, smoking until the entire apartment seemed hazy and distant from the rest of the world. On Sunday afternoon, when Rupert was set to leave in a few hours, they lay together on the guest room bed, when Rupert asked why they didn’t sleep in the main bedroom. Truthfully, Brandon felt squeamish about Rupert sleeping with him in the bed he and Phillip shared, and had hoped Rupert wouldn’t bring it up, he wasn’t sure he had acceptable justification. 

Brandon drummed his fingers on his chest. “Oh, just call it a sentimental whim.”

Rupert hummed and lit another cigarette. “He does know about us, doesn’t he? You must have found time to mention it after all these years?”

Brandon sat up and started looking for his underwear. His back to Rupert, he hoped nonchalantly, he said: “No, b-but he wouldn’t mind, I’m sure. I-I’ve even thought about…asking him to join us now and again.”

“Well why haven’t you? The more the merrier, isn’t that what they say?”

“That is what they say.” Brandon pulled on his pants and turned around. “I’ll t-think about the best way to do it, don’t want to scare him off, you-you know how he can be.”

Rupert hummed again, smiled and laid back, eyes closed, seemingly content with the world. “I look forward to it.”

Brandon made it a point to keep their visits to Rupert’s apartments or hotels after that. And he never brought it up to Phillip.

After several years the visits grew further apart, though he and Rupert still talked often and saw each other at parties occasionally, always going off into a corner to talk or having debates in the middle of crowded rooms, fit to stop all other conversation. Brandon assumed they were both busy and tried not to be too hurt when Rupert began turning down offers to see him, he had a book coming out after all, his job, his friends, it wouldn’t be fair of Brandon to monopolize that time, or feel entitled to it.

When the phone rang one Saturday afternoon it had been nearly a year since the last time they’d had sex. It rang several times before Phillip shouted down the hallway:

“Brandon, can you get that?” Phillip had scores spread out across the desk and surrounding furniture, looking for the perfect selection for an audition. He heard Brandon pick up behind him.

“Brandon Shaw. Rupert? Wonderful, how are you?”

Phillip tuned him out and concentrated on his scores again, shuffling things around, beginning to make a pile of obvious rejections. After a few minutes he heard Brandon walk back into the room.

Without looking up he asked, “How’s Rupert?”

“He’s well, he just called to invite us to a dinner party he’s throwing in a couple weeks.”

Phillip grimaced at a particularly awful piece and set it aside. “Hmm, who else is invited?”

Brandon strolled over to the kitchen for a drink and shouted over his shoulder as he went. “Oh, Joe and Harvey, Martin and Tommy, Don and some new guy he’s with, I didn’t catch the name, oh and Kenneth.”

Phillip stopped. “Kenneth? Kenneth Lawrence?”

“That’s what he said.”

He turned toward the kitchen. “You’re saying that everyone who’s going to be there are four couples, Rupert and Kenneth?”

Brandon walked back through the kitchen door, big grin twitching on his face. “Maybe Rupert’s fucking Ken.”

Phillip rubbed his eyes. “He just wants to play games, everyone will have to watch themselves, use innuendo, tiptoe around everything and the whole evening will be so tense with everyone waiting to see if Kenneth will notice and run scared, it’s pathetic.”

Brandon handed Phillip a glass of soda and raised his as if to toast. “It’s brilliant.”

Phillip took the glass and scoffed. “Of course you’d think that.”

“I do, we’re going.”

And that was that.

Rupert opened the door to greet them, a steady burble of conversation coming from inside. Brandon held up a bottle of wine, which Rupert took with a smile, gracing him with a knowing look, acknowledging that he remembered the last time they had drank Amarone together. As he went to put the bottle on ice, Phillip and Brandon hung up their coats and hats and made their way into the sitting room where the two couples who had already arrived were seated and chatting, along with Kenneth, a bit off to the side and looking even more out of place than usual. And, on a second sweep, Brandon noticed someone even further out of their comfort zone: a young teenage boy sitting shyly in a corner. 

Phillip and Brandon made the rounds, chose a couple chairs and joined the conversation, Phillip taking pity on Kenneth and trying to distract him from his subtle confusion over a situation he’d ended up in and couldn’t quite put his finger on. Truthfully, he did it both out of pity and a determination to keep Rupert from taking too much satisfaction from this childish game.

As the maid went to open the door and ushered in the last couple, Brandon glanced at the boy again, still sitting quietly by himself, every now and then looking back towards the kitchen.

“Who stole the kid?” Brandon asked Harvey, voice lowered. “Don’t tell me one of you got close enough to a woman to procreate.”

Harvey smirked, “No, no, he’s Rupert’s, the latest one of his little students, you know?” He looked back as if to appraise him. “He sure chose a cute one this time didn’t he?”

Brandon felt his smile fix on his face. As he glanced over at the boy again, hoping it seemed he was admiring what he saw, he forced himself not to ask the obvious questions bubbling up. Before he was obliged to try and recover from this, Rupert walked in from the kitchen, the boy perking up immediately and turning to him. Rupert stopped to whisper to him, a smile spreading across his hairless cheeks. Rupert clasped him on the shoulder and turned to the room. “As they say in France, well, let’s eat.”

Brandon followed the party into the dining room in a daze, Phillip walking in with a much reassured Kenneth, incredibly grateful to talk about school memories rather than think about whatever was going on in the room.

The food was served and little conversations began, Rupert was asked about the new book he was writing, always a topic that could keep him going for a while. Phillip seemed relieved that Kenneth could just listen rather safely to this, removing from him the burden of entertaining, and he relaxed back to enjoy his dinner.

Brandon struggled to even think about eating. Rupert was talking about the typical books out on the market now, the romances, works of fiction, other genres he thought rather low-brow.

The kid laughed from where he was sat beside him, looking up admirably. He said with a sneer, eyes only for Rupert: “That’s fine for the common sort, but it’s sort of boring once you understand that it’s all meaningless.”

Brandon flinched. How many times had he said the same sort of thing to Rupert, been in this boy’s very chair? He picked at his food and continued to stare across the table, not caring if he was obvious about it. Rupert leaned over and whispered to the boy, who listened, laughed, and then turned to whisper back, eyes flicking up to find Rupert’s to gauge his reaction, relief flooding through them when Rupert chuckled and placed his hand on the boy’s back, rubbing it in a comradely way. 

Brandon felt his face lose color. The boy was so obviously desperate for approval, drinking up every word Rupert said, the large hand so comfortable on that small body. He stood up abruptly. "Excuse me." he mumbled, stumbling over his chair in his haste and walking quickly to the bathroom. But it was no better here, here where he'd cleaned himself after countless nights, there in the tub where they had fucked for hours one unforgettable afternoon in the warm murky water. He imagined that boy here, in the shower, on the bath mat, Rupert running his hands through that hair, god one hand would cover his entire head. Brandon knelt on the ground and leaned his face against the cool edge of the sink, staring at nothing.

There was a soft knock at the bathroom door. Brandon's entire body tensed, shoulders hunching, eyes squeezed shut. He didn't want to see him, hear him, be in the same room with him-

"Brandon?" He opened his eyes.

"Phillip?"

His voice was quiet and muffled further by the door. "Are you alright?"

"Come in."

A pause, then the door opened slowly, Phillip peeking around. Seeing Brandon on the floor, he closed the door and knelt beside him. Phillip put a hand to his forehead, and Brandon almost smiled at the motherly instinct. 

"I w-want to go h-home." He hated how weak his voice sounded.

"Alright."

"I'm not t-telling Rupert."

Phillip’s hand was at his back, helping him stand. "Our coats are in the front closet, we don't even have to pass by the dining room again."

Brandon nodded, sluggish brain adjusting to the escape plan.

Phillip opened the door for him, muttering, "The meal was terrible anyway, he never should have dismissed that last cook."

Automatically Brandon responded: “He thinks he’s being g-g-gauche, y-you know, serving sandwiches at a dinner party.” 

The weak insults were enough for now, were all he could handle. They crept out of the bathroom and down the hall, quietly retrieving their things and leaving without a word. Let them gossip and say what they would, they’d get no explanations. Though Brandon knew Rupert would understand. He always did.


End file.
